


Domesticity.

by mypassionfortrash



Category: Tenet (2020)
Genre: F/M, Fake Marriage, Married Spies, Robert Pattinson - Freeform, Spies & Secret Agents, This is sort of like Mr and Mrs Smith except it won't be funny
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:21:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26466331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mypassionfortrash/pseuds/mypassionfortrash
Summary: An SVR operative, you’ve been tasked with taking out a Danish businessman who specialises in organ harvesting after several Russian nationals go missing in Denmark. But when the mission goes awry – thanks to a wiry looking man in a Savile Row suit – you’re well and truly at the mercy of MI6 to stay alive. They have an interesting proposition for you...
Relationships: Neil/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 32





	Domesticity.

**Author's Note:**

> Neil from TENET's been living rent-free in my head now for a week and honestly, I had to write something. Let me know if you like this, and I might just continue it to the juicy bit.

“…And be careful. This place is crawling with CIA, MI6…”

“I can handle myself,” you said, yanking out your earpiece and stowing it in your bag. After all, you had done this a hundred times before. Taking out seedy little men. Drug traffickers and arms dealers, mostly. Small-time.

But this job landed on your lap utterly by chance. You were in the area, and your organisation wanted intelligence and a clean kill. Your target was Klaus Møller – a Danish billionaire who ran a clean energy company as a front for his black market organ harvesting operation. When several Russian nationals disappeared in Denmark, dispatch traced it back to Klaus and called you in.

Walking into one of Klaus’ lavish parties was like entering another world; chandeliers and marble and gold overwhelmed your senses for a moment. The foyer bustled with servers in penguin suits, doling out glasses of bubbles from magnums of Moët. Still, you thought, with this much going on, killing Klaus would be easy.

See, Klaus didn’t mingle. He preferred to patrol the upper levels, glaring down at his guests until it all became too much and he retreated back to his study. This would be too easy.

You gave a cursory glance around the foyer for anything suspicious and came up blank. It was now or never.

Taking the winding marble staircase step by step, you kept your eyes lasered in on the crowd below. But casually so. You couldn’t afford to arouse any suspicions. About halfway up, you carefully screwed the silencer on to the end of your pistol through the fabric of your bag. And when you reached the top, Klaus’ study was only a few paces away.

But three armed thugs guarded the tycoon, sitting lazily around the room.

“Gentlemen,” you nodded, wandering inside, your presence urging them to their feet. Clearly, they didn’t think you were a threat – a pretty girl in a pretty dress wasn’t uncommon in Klaus’ mansion. But then, you whipped out your pistol and sent the three men to their death. You didn’t even bat an eyelid.

Klaus, on the other hand, looked like he was on the verge of a heart attack. His portly face had turned the shade of a beet and glistened with sweat. “I suppose you have come to bargain?” he heaved.

Just as your lips parted for a clever retort, the look of terror on his features intensified. A bullet almost grazed your nose as you whipped around to look at the intruder. And then your own heart raced when you realised that Klaus was dying, and you hadn’t extracted a single piece of useful information.

“He was mine,” you seethed, marching up to the man in the Savile Row suit. “I bet you’re fucking MI6. Why are you here?”

“Actually,” he smirked, jabbing something into the side of your neck, “I’m here for you.”

A fluorescent strip light buzzed above you, burning its way right through your eyelids. As groggy as you were from the sedative, you quickly realised that your hands and legs were bound, and you were in some sort of shipping container. And you weren’t alone.

“Now, Little Miss U.S.S.R,” the familiar voice began. The bastard from MI6 broke into the periphery of your vision and sat on the seat opposite you. “As far as the SVR sees it, you’ve botched your mission.”

“And what was that?” You sneered.

“Let me finish,” he smirked. “Tell me, what does the SVR do to agents who fail?”

“They’re eli–“

“Eliminated, aren’t they?” he asked, getting to his feet.

“Let me guess. You’re going to offer me freedom in exchange for intelligence?”

“No, my dear. I’m offering you a new mission.” He kneeled down in front of you and studied you for a moment. “I’ve studied you for months, and no one kills like you. Personally, I don’t care too much for bloodshed and that’s why I need you. And in exchange, protection. No intelligence exchanged. Russia’s secrets, as gruesome as they are, die with you.”

You hadn’t realised how far forward you had leaned, subconsciously trying to close the gap between you and your adversary, until you sat up straight again. “What’s the mission?”

“I’m glad you asked,” he chuckled. “We’re to pose as a married couple and await further instruction back in London.”

“And what’s the catch?”

“No catch,” he said. “Killing comes very naturally to you, so I don’t imagine what lies ahead will be too difficult for you. It’s probably better than dying.”

“Alright.”

“Good,” he said, moving behind you to undo your restraints. “For the purposes of this mission, you can call me Neil. And you, are my darling wife, Margaret. How’s your English accent?”


End file.
